The Queen's Birthday Parade (I can Troop colors, too, ya know...)

Thanks to the kind folks on Facebook and email offering birthday wishes. It's a blast reading them! And so uplifting to me. I appreciate all of you.

I read in Wikipedia today that the Queen, HRH Queen Elizabeth II, has an Official Royal Birthday cake. The nerve! How did she get one before I did? I'll bet she doesn't have one like this. Bzzzzzzzzzz!

Here she is inspecting the last Trooping of The Colour at Buckingham Palace

 I'm sure it didn't take her long. There's only one color.
This frivolously expensive exercise is also known as The Queen's Birthday Parade. I say it ain't no parade without a clown. Do you see any?

She has nothing on Queen Mimi Pencil Skirt of Bloggingham Palace of The Internet.
Here's my Trooping of The Colours. Salute!




Queen Elizabeth's birthday is actually April 21st, but it is celebrated on all kinds of different days throughout the calendar year depending on province, region, or whether or not the Queen has used all her frequent flyer miles for that month I so just made that up .  It's been moved around depending on the whim of monarchs past in hopes of holding the festivities during decent weather. In England??! As long as she continues to feign confusion about the actual day, at least she'll get more presents. She's no dummy, that Queen. I feel for her. At least I know when my birthday is.

Even if my own mother doesn't. She called 3 days ago with a hearty, "Happy birthday!" in my phone ear. "Why, thank you Mother, but you are 3 days early. Today is Daddy's birthday." 

"Oh. I always get those mixed up."

Sigh

I do take issue with the fact that Queen Elizabeth has her own parade.  Here's the Royal Family in a not-so-recent balcony picture. They don't look like they're having fun.

Oh wait.  Wrong picture. That's King George VI reviewing his birthday parade. They don't look like they're having much fun either. I'd like to know how he's going to Troop those colors in black and white. Don't they know anything??

Even if Queen Elizabeth II does wear better hats than her Royal Internet counterpart and even if she isn't descended from Cherokee southern blood and even EVEN if she can't get all those birthday wishes on her Facebook wall 'cause it's private (Epic Fail, Queen, Epic Fail!!).....

I'll bet her mother knew when her birthday was.

 But then again, maybe not.

Monday Mimisms ~ Ordinary Secrets

I've been thinking a lot about thankfulness lately. If you can drown out the screaming sales tags, endless commercials and constant pleas for help from a trillion questionable charities that seem to come out of the woodwork this time of year, well, then you might have time to think about thankfulness.

Last night, after cleaning and fru-fruing (that means making nice in the house ie: flowers and candles) for today's post-Thanksgiving-pre-Christmas-decoration party, I stood at the sink looking out my kitchen window, staring at an ordinary sunset through ordinary trees on any ordinary Saturday night. And I remembered, for a second, how good it is, how life-affirming....to stop and look through ordinary windows at masterpieces in the sky.  I stopped rearranging and took a good long look. No inside ambiance conjured up by a fru-fruing woman can hold a candle to what I saw through that window.
I took a moment to be thankful for unexpected glimpses of heaven into ordinary days.

Take this for example. A small spray of daisies on my table. If I look closer I can see the presence of creation. The miracle of nature. The strength of extraordinary petals on an ordinary table. But I have to stop and look.

I don't mind if the lighting is all wrong. Or even accidentally all right. The best things seem to always come to me by accident. So, to me, it looks just right.
It's the same with people.
You have to take the shadow with the light for what it is.

And sometimes looking at the underside of a thing....

reveals much more than the presentable side ever did. It's the same with people.

If you want to know who they are, all you have to do is find out from whence they gather their strength. Unseen stems make all types of flowers - some beautiful - and some still in beauty school.

For weeks I've stopped dead in my tracks at the thought of one thing - spring.  The weather has been unseasonably warm here. I feel a light breeze, turn around thinking spring has come, when it's only November. But something about this seasonal premonition makes me bubble up and laugh. Out loud. In the first trimester of winter. Like a happy happy secret. In my car. On the way to my ordinary mailbox in my ordinary driveway on any ordinary day. Suddenly, there is spring.

Perhaps that's why I bought a bouquet of daisies for my table.

Sometimes it's shadow and sometimes it's light.

All of it is beautiful.

Even as far-reaching and wondrous as my kitchen sunset was, I only cared for the moment that it was beautiful. And that was enough. Earth science and solar systems and all the scientific explanations in the world didn't matter. So I declare, today on the cusp of winter's bite, that I will stop trying to find ways of duplicating the obvious, when all I have to do is look through a pane of glass at eons of creation or find an eternity's worth of gratitude on my kitchen table. Spring wants to tell me something.

And something tells me....it won't be an ordinary spring.

A Thanksgiving Story by Mimi Lenox ~ Mama's Jail

It is tradition on this blog to re-post this story every Thanksgiving. A lot has changed in the years that followed, but it still stands as one of the clearer defining moments of my life. I am thankful for so many things this year (look in my sidebar for a little tiny hint!) including the love of family and friends.  I hope you and your family have a safe and wonderful holiday. ~ Mimi

When my son was fifteen he did something stupid. His dad, my ex-husband, gave him the usual “Atta boy don't do that again” talk, the school got their three days without his smart mouth and I was left with the what am I gonna do with this child? nightmare invading my dreams. In those days there was no imaginary blog dungeon, no chains, no rack – not that I would have used it ( I didn't even believe in spanking) – but you catch my drift.

What am I going to do with this child?

The conversation went something like this: “You know I love you so I'm not even going to preface this punishment with I love you because you've already gotten a slap on the wrist but OK OK I love you.”

“Yeah, I know Mom.”
He started to walk away.

“Well, I hope you'll still love me when I tell you what your punishment is going to be.”

Although I vowed never to give the think of all the starving children speech to my child (I broke that rule many times), this time I went for the jugular. Mine was bulging. “What were you THINKING?! Do you think you can just go through life handling things this way? Do you know how privileged you are? (yeah Mom) Do you understand that there are kids in this world who would love to have your life? (yeah Mom) Why are you choosing to mess things up for yourself? Do you know that you can't play sports now? (yeah Mom) Are you listening to me?! If you don't get your act together young man you're going to end up somewhere you don't want to be and I'm not bailing you out. Do you hear me? (yeah Mom) You have no idea how close you came to getting in serious trouble today, do you? Do you? Well, DO you?? (a surly yeah Mom....See, I told you, listen to the smart mouth.) What you do right now in school will determine your future. And now you have a bad mark on your academic record and a three-day suspension before high school. You are out of control!”

“So ground me,” said the smart mouth.

“No. I will not ground you.”

He halted.

“What are you going to do?” he asked.

“Just think of it as Mama's jail.”

The smart-aleck ceased for a moment and then....."Whatever, Mom.”

I was furious with him and at my wit's end. He needed to see how the real world works. I made arrangements. It took some doing but they finally saw it my way. "You want your son to do WHAT? But he's not a criminal (not YET I thought) and we're not a juvenile detention center." (well......) "Will you please allow us to do this? I asked the nun-like administrator of this facility. “I'm not trying to teach him a lesson here, that is not the point, but he needs to see and understand with his own eyes how lucky he is and how his actions now can affect the rest of his life.”

So for the next two months that summer we got up at five am, drove to another town and worked in a homeless shelter's soup kitchen. It was the worst of the worst neighborhoods. I had cleanup detail (you didn't think they'd let me near the food now, did you?) and he served the line.

“What are we doing here?” he asked.

I never told him why. He didn't need another lecture.
Think of all the starving children just got real.


After one week of losing his summer sleep to ride an hour in my car at the crack of dawn - with music blasting all the way - and mingle with very old people volunteers and stir canned creamed corn in a pot for an hour he said, “Why didn't you just send me to REAL jail?! I hate this!”




Uh huh, I thought. Just stir, buster.

In the middle of the second week he started to actually get up before I did. “Hurry up, Mom. We have to get going.” (Oh great, I thought. He's met a pretty girl at the homeless shelter. That's the only reason he would get up at five am. My plan has backfired. Drats!) And what was this grand revelation I expected him to learn? Heck if I knew. I was just a parent with an unruly fifteen- year -old with no respect for himself or his elders or his life. I didn't even know if it would make a difference.
All I knew was that somehow the corn and pintos and no-dessert-for-you rule would magically translate into a light-bulb moment for him. Osmosis maybe? I just knew this was the right thing to do but I didn't know how or why.

One early afternoon as I started to clean the lunch tables with a large wet rag and a bucket of soapy water, rearranging the napkins and utensils for the next meal, I looked up to see my sleepy-headed son talking with a man through the narrow serving window.

My boy had just served lunch. There was pie for dessert that day.
Pumpkin pie.The man had returned to the window for another slice.
He was dirty. Shaky.
No teeth. Scraggly. Scary. Smelly. And hungry.

The rules were clear. One serving per person. No seconds. Period.

No one was looking. And I'm thinking....We're going to get thrown out of the soup kitchen for not following the rules. Oh great! Suspended again. And this time I'm going down with him. Oh the shame. Until.....

The man who wanted more pie.

Up until this point he rarely made eye contact with anyone in the line. Especially not the kids. He plopped the food on the plate and reached for the next empty Styrofoam sadness shuffling through. People with their entire families in tow. Hungry folks down on their luck and needing not even a hot meal. Just a meal. Families living in cars through no fault of their own. On the street. Raggedy clothes crossing elbows with his Tommy Hilfiger jeans and watch.
Pork 'n beans, wax beans, any beans. Didn't matter. Please feed my child. My little girl is hungry. I saw it in their eyes. The sadness. And the shame.

I was so moved that summer. Apparently, I needed a reality check too. But that was not the point. Was it?

The man would not stop asking and he was forced to look him squarely in the eyes. I could see the wheels turning in baby boy's brown-eyed head..... “Will you shut up? I'm going to get in trouble if you don't go away.”

Silence.

And a hungry stare full of embarrassment that a life-giving gesture lay in the hands of this kid he did not know and would never know - someone young enough to be his grandchild - who held something he wanted.. something he had to beg for. And then I saw my son slip a plump piece of pumpkin delight (with whipped cream) onto the scraped clean empty plate. The man nodded appreciatively, lowered his head, and walked away.

By this time my wet rag had dropped to the table and the cleaning had stopped. My hair in a net, pretending to fold silverware sets, I watched what happened. He saw me sit down. I waited for someone to say something. I waited for him to get in trouble. No one saw his discretion that day but I'll tell you this - If I could have jumped through the tiny little window and wrapped my arms around that boy I would have done so.

He was shuffling his hundred dollar Nike-shod feet standing with a spatula and an empty pan, trying not to look at me. When our eyes finally met, the blur of tears between us said what no lecture ever could. We never talked again about the man, the pie, or his punishment.
But I was proud.

We finished our tour of shelter duty as promised and school started again in the fall.
That was seventeen years ago.

Did that summer stop him from forever being a knuckle-head? No.
Did he straighten-up-and-fly-right from that moment on? No.
Were there more nightmare dreams for me through the teenage years? Yes.

But I have to believe that it shaped his understanding of the world a bit and through all his troubles that most certainly came later, I did see – and continue to see – a great compassion develop in him for people in need.

And to this day, every time I'm offered a slice of pumpkin pie.... I see a homeless man, a prized piece of dessert and brown-eyed humility.

Mine.

Join us for BlogBlast For Peace Nov 4

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Shadows on Lace

 She laid lace in his hand A most willing of man and trusted her secrets to keep

instead what she found
when the acorns fell down
in the mantle of gold

made her weep

*Photography and poetry by Mimi Lenox*
still on hiatus

Winking at The Moon

Siesta time. 

A break from writing sometimes makes a better writer. I need serious rest and me time.  I'll be back in a little while with a fresh perspective. See you soon.

*photo: Mimi Lenox*

Monday Mimisms ~ If I Red You Right

 I leaf you with many thanks for participating in BlogBlast4Peace last week. 

It was a beautiful launch.

Now it's time for pencil skirt stories, mid-life muddling, peace post reading and kicking up some blog dust. Meet me here?

*photography Mimi Lenox*

Dona Nobis Pacem ~ The Cabinet

* I hope you are enjoying the peace globes. I'm seeing amazing and inspiring sights all over the globe.**

Something led me to the potting shed this morning. So, I put on some leaf-walking shoes to follow the muse.

It is clear and beautiful in Bloggingham today with a bit of breeze and the sound of falling acorns. Leaves are changing faster than I'd like for it's only a matter of time before they lay bare and naked the strength of my trees, losing their protection and grace.

For weeks now I've thought of spring. Remembering scenes in my life that happened - only - in springtime. I wondered why. The images so strong as if I were reliving them again. I could smell spring. Touch spring. In my chilly foggy forest surroundings, a season I love most of all, I needed, I suppose, to feel spring.
So on my way to the potting shed I stopped at my patch of wild mums and descended upon them with the camera lens. They were waiting like old friends to give me a breath of spring.

But back to the muse. The shed the shed shed. I must get to the shed. 

Just inside the door of the little building in my grove of trees and overgrown wildness...is this

It belonged to my Papa. It was his tool cabinet. It hung on the wall of the garage where he made things and sawed things and stored things in it; including the secret stash of chewing tobacco in a can in the corner beside nails and rags and oilcans. He made picture frames and tables, stools and odd furniture pieces. I made mud pies and tried to leave him be while he measured and thought hard.  It was a steady stream of stirring inedible cuisine (some things have not changed, my friends), him spitting in the can while I tried not to look, sawdust, the swing of the hammer and the sound of my grandmother's voice trying to shout above the bzzzz bzzzz saw that supper was ready and we'd better wash up.
He'd scoop me up in his grease covered arms and let me do my favorite thing of all: I got to close the wooden latch.

Opening it today without the benefit of hugs and the promise of butter biscuits was bittersweet. But something had led me to the shed today and I aimed to open it.

Hmmmm...not much left in here except spider webs and dirt. A very old can of something to do with grease, some iron rings, a few nails...and a brand new water hose head I bought last spring lying on the bottom shelf.

How did that get in there? I didn't put it there.

At that moment a large gust of wind starting spinning Bloggingham's trees above the A-line roof of the shed, branches swaying heavily above me soaring and tall in the blue sky while the bam bam bam of acorn bullets descended upon the roof at the same time above my head. Yow! It scared me so I ran out the door. Find the wild mum patch, Mimi! Mums aren't scary. Don't you go back in that building. That was a sign I tell ya, a sign!

Go back in, silly, it's just the wind.

OK. But only because you're a droopy mum and need cheering up. I'll go back.

I crushed a few acorns with my leaf-walking shoes and went back inside. Reaching into the deep storage shelf on the bottom, I gingerly removed the out-of-place water spout and laid it elsewhere. But what I saw underneath startled me so that I ran out again. This time stopping in the yard to put my face in hands, tears on my face with memories of dusty nails flying into walnut, pine and oak, now pounding in my mind as I wondered....

How did THAT get in there?

It was Papa's hammer.

All tools near and far were lost in the divorce, gathered from this cabinet and absconded with the swish of a legal pen.  I never saw this before. His hammer. His hammer. How could I have missed it?  His hammer. Why hadn't I seen it before? How long had it been there? No logical answers could I find, even after a phone call to said absconder-of-the-tools. He didn't remember it being there either. "I'm sure I cleaned everything out of that cabinet," he said. No matter. It's peace day ya know.  It doesn't matter how it got there. But I have no doubt I was supposed to find it.

We might need a hammer you know.

To be builders of peace it isn't enough to declare it so, will it so, pray it so or blog it so. In between the words, which indeed are powerful ideas and mantras, we have an arsenal of tools at our disposal just begging to be utilized for good.  Some have been lying around for years but all we want to do is talk about them. We're too busy sometimes to actually pick up a nail and pick a spot - any spot - to inhabit peacefully in our world. To make it better for someone we don't even know. We don't see that the lack of connectedness in one person brings the whole planet into a state of perpetual lack. And how one area of unrest brings the whole planet into jeopardy.  Cause I'm here to tell ya...it's easy to cohabitate peacefully with people you love. But it's darn near impossible to build peace with perfect strangers across a ragged world of war.

Yet peace builders we must be with weapons of saws and plowshares.

And let's throw in some beauty, shall we?

It isn't enough to elevate people in dire need with food and clothing and somewhere-out-of-a-cardboard-box. They need - we all need - artists and writers and painters and dancers to lift our spirits to a place far beyond the basic tenets of existence. I never saw my grandfather's day end without a book in his hand, a song playing on the stereo

or a Spring in his smile. 

In the meantime...we need sowers of seeds for crops of food and medicine, laboring hands to shingle roofs, diggers of wells and drillers of land, mattocks and shovelers, sweepers of oceans and singers to soothe those who can't understand this peace you say in front of their hungry children.  We have to pick them up - these building tools -  and make them happen in our homes and communities before we can expect anyone to buy into a word we're saying on the subject of peace. Then and only then can we call ourselves peacemakers. In my own personal space of planet Earth I will hold myself to that standard.   I will try. I will try. But I don't believe it will take the world as long to arrive at the inevitable wisdom of peace as it did to lunge into the abyss of universal war.  It seems to me that the tide of consciousness and awareness is turning.

But it won't last unless we get out of the realm of consciousness-raising and into the physical realm of working the work with more than manifestos. You all know how firmly I believe that words are  powerful - but they are not the only tools we have. I have no trouble nailing my purpose to the plate with words.  It is who I am. It's a bit more daunting to get my skirt dirty with your problems when I have a world of my own.

Have you ever noticed that in the cold dead winter of warring with someone, there comes a time when you just get tired of warring and you wonder, "Isn't there a better way?" Do I think there are people hellbent on destruction for the sake of destruction? Yes. Do I see and understand that not everyone in the world wants to go searching for spring? Yes. But I have to hope that somehow deep down even in the hearts of evil men lies a human seed of desire for survival. And if they can't reach peace for any other reason than that, then so be it.  Because we're on a collision course that peace treaties and scribbled sanctions can't fix. The heart of man has to change...and that is nothing akin to changing our minds. It goes as deep as long-grained wood. That brand of human evolution requires that we sometimes allow the other person to open the door and sometimes we  must allow them to lift us up to reach the door.

When my grandfather began a new project, he first chose the strongest of materials, the most sturdy wood. He knew that to lay a foundation on anything else was a waste of time. He knew that building things without the proper tools was a recipe for destruction.   Then he threw in his ingredients: Solitude. Contemplation. Pride. Patience. Hard work. And a sense of service. He didn't build things to sell. Giving them away gave him great pleasure.

 I was reminded by a friend today that it's good to use the tools of our fathers and grandfathers. There is something organic about it. I hope as the world churns and turns toward a new season, that we don't discard the hard-won sacrifices made before our time nor the wisdom those experiences bring to the table of peace building.

It is not enough that we learn to unmake war. 

We must learn to remake peace.

Wanna borrow my hammer?

Slideshow of some of the peace globes coming in. Adding to it constantly with new submissions. Many folks are posting on Facebook only. Please visit our Peace Bloggers page or Fan page to enjoy those too. If you are a Facebook peace blogger only, please add your FB profile link to the Mr. Linky.



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1. Mimi Lenox 2. luma rosa 3. CyberCelt 4. Michelle CrowsFeet 5. Judy Croome 6. Adelle Laudan 7. Anndi 8. Gemel 9. On a Limb with Claudia 10. Goodness Gracie 11. Opus & Olive 12. Ruis 13. nonamedufus 14. Ivanhoe in Ohio 15. DrillerAA 16. Gallery of the Mountains 17. Carolina Mountains 18. Sherry Blue Sky 19. Jamie 20. Cats of Wildcat Woods 21. Shannon W 22. Shannon 23. Digital Catharsis 24. Sanni Jansen 25. Frankie Muehlenhaupt 26. Lily Muehlenhaupt 27. Luis Muehlenhaupt 28. Carver 29. Jersey Furry-Diva 30. Rhonda Powell 31. The Gal Herself 32. cooper 33. Animal Shelter Volunteer Life 34. Billie Greenwood, Border Explorer 35. lime 36. Laurie Hunter Blackhall 37. Louie's Chaos 38. Purrchance To Dream 39. Cheysuli 40. Ken Smith 41. kazoku neko 42. Crazed Nitwit 43. Thomma Lyn 44. Barbara Mack-Bodfield 45. Julie's Jewels and Junque 46. Sarge Charlie 47. Samantha, Clementine & Maverick 48. Julie 49. Amber McInnis 50. Brain Foggles w Linky 51. Faith Gilbert Suley 52. Julia Philips Smith 53. Friends Furever 54. Carver's Sight or Is That Site? 55. The CooknTcher Blog 56. CatSynth 57. Clooney's Num-Num Fund 58. Cats of Wildcat Woods 59. Sans 60. The Cat Post Intelligencer 61. dust bunny hostage 62. Life In The Carolina Mountains 63. Kitty Limericks 64. Herman's Hideaway 65. Noll's Nip 66. Cat Wisdom 101 67. Laya Morgan Wilde 68. Kirstin Jewell and Miranda Jewell 69. Robin from Israel 70. Travis 71. Zoolatry 72. CherryPie 73. Daisy the Curly Cat 74. cheryl 75. Sumo 76. Sweepy 77. Lui 78. HoundsInHeaven 79. MISS PEACH 80. Tink 81. TechnoBabe 82. Kathy Duffy Thomas 83. the cookntchrmom 84. Jade, Myst, Blackie & Cocoa - Dona Nobis Pacem 85. Long Hollow 86. Sue St Clair 87. Rosidah Abidin, Indonesia 88. The Rocky Mount Meezers 89. Catonsville Cats

90. Audrey 91. Beach Bum 92. Vinny Bond Marini 93. Daryl 94. finding pam 95. KC & The Sherwood Cats 96. The Cat Blogosphere 97. Dawn 98. The World's Most Stunning Cat 99. The Cat From Hell 100. Starrlight 101. Marilyn 102. Goodnightgram 103. Jessica 104. Akelamalu 105. Lele Batita 106. The Island Cats 107. The Island Cats 108. Max the Psychokitty 109. Chloe and Cecil 110. Buddah Pest 111. Winston 112. Thumper 113. jansfunnyfarm - Dona Nobis Pacem 114. Big Leather Couch ~ Vinny and Nancy Marini 115. Shannon's Moments of Introspection 116. Angle and Kirby 117. A Tonks Tail...err, Tale 118. Junior, Orion, Sammy 119. terica 120. Ramblin with Roger 121. Janice D'Agostino 122. Rio, Rob and Mandy, from Barcelona 123. Janice D'Agostino 124. Milo and Alfie 125. Mike Golch 126. Eddie Griffin 127. Mike Golch 128. Diary From England 129. Kwizgiver 130. Tropical Fruit Bowl 131. Thorne 132. 3 Kats and a Kwilter 133. Kate 134. Rox~ Peaceful Lifestyle 135. Rox~ Non Violence 136. Rox~ Legacy & Example 137. Curlz and Swirlz 138. Nick's Bytes 139. Rox~ Parenting & Education 140. Alexicon 141. Susie Clevenger 142. ManxMNews-Dona Nobis Pacem 143. Forty Paws - Dona Nobis Pacem 144. Random Rotary Thoughts 145. A Piece of My Mind 146. Brad Smith 147. Catonsville Cats 148. Confessions of A Laundry Goddess 149. Peace In Retirement 150. Welshcakes Limoncello 151. susan 152. Kim Marie Esch/Whispering*Prims 153. Bluezy 154. Lynette Killam 155. Judy Croome 156. The Peaceful Palate 157. Richard Ball 158. Things Esoteric 159. Sicily Scene 160. Grace Ann Gonzalez Dean ~ 1st peace blogger from Venezuela 161. Bing (PinkLady) 162. Thoughtful Reflections 163. Through The Eyes of Tweedles 164. The Meezers 165. House of Lime 166. All of Time and Space 167. Question Liberty 168. Camie's Kitties 169. Advertising For Success 170. Endangered Spaces 171. Mama Pajama 172. Laurie Hunter-Blackhall 173. Around The Island 174. The Queen's Meme 175. Daisy 176. The Adventures of Admiral Hestorb 177. Music of My Life 178. Sweet Purrfections

179. Abin's Literary World 180. Imaginary Garden with Real Toads 181. turtle memoirs 182. Mouse Droppings 183. Ginger,Buddy n Shadow 184. StarrDreaming with Sherry Blue Sky 185. Laurie Kolp 186. A Chat With Jennie Marsland 187. Kevin Walsh 188. okjimm 189. CyberCelt (CoolAdzine) 190. CyberCelt (Advertising-for-Success) 191. Caught In The Stream 192. The Maaaaa of Pricilla 193. More Random Than Average 194. Adelle Laudan 195. Annelisa 196. FoxxyFyrre's Honk n' Hollr 197. Out and About in New York City 198. Debra James Percival 199. Raymond and Busby 200. Inigo Boy 201. Facebook Album of 2011 Peace Globes 202. BlogBlast For Peace ~ The Official Gallery 203. From Bud To Blossom 204. The Boomer Muse 205. Ferd 206. Facebook Album #2 of 2011 Peace Globes 207. News From France 208. Leesa 209. Cat Banter with Kimo and Sabi 210. Pawprintss in the Sands of Time 211. The Poupounette Blog 212. Brian 213. Mark's Mews 214. Sparkle Cat 215. Ginger Jasper 216. Prancer Pie 217. Catster 218. The Barking Oracle 219. Renny Ba's Terella 220. Team Tabby 221. Purposeful Woman 222. BlogHer 223. Bichonpawz 224. Sasa Rocks 225. Silvie 226. Meowings of An Opinionated Pussycat 227. Jasper McKitten-Cat 228. An Unfittie's Guide to Adventurous Travel 229. Rambling Woods 230. Bloodthirsty Muses 231. Peeballs and Pooplogs 232. Peace Thimbles 233. Black Cat 234. Giant Triplets 235. Direito e Avesso/Right and Reverse 236. Revenge of The Sonith 237. Kitikata-San's Blog 238. Fahredin Shehu 239. Fahredin Shehu ~ 1st peace blogger from Kosovo 240. Clarissa's House of Cats 241. White Dog Diary 242. Nobody Important 243. ron & sophie 244. Karen Kouki ~ 1st peace blogger from Egypt 245. Sarah Skeen Photography 246. Cat's Cats 247. Volunteer Acupuncture in Nepal 248. Bernadette E. Kazmarski 249. The Creative Cat 250. Darling Millie 251. Willow's Cat Blog 252. China Cat's Blog 253. Critters in The Cottage 254. The Beckers (Shawn and Bill) 255. Spitty Speaks 256. Amel's Realm 257. Cat-A-Holic 258. The Misadventures of Me 259. Princesita 260. Bama Cats 261. ByLightOfMoon 262. The Maaaaa of Pricilla 263. CherryPie 264. The World's Most Stunning Cat 265. Thorne's World 266. Luis Diferr

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The Eve of Dona Nobis Pacem

Somewhere in the world BlogBlast For Peace is dawning. It wouldn't be the same without Annelisa's sunrise photography. Taken in East Sussex, I am proud to call her my friend from across the pond. She has a way of bringing peace through the lens of her magic camera. Though this is her neighborhood in the United Kingdom it also reminds me a bit of Bloggingham Palace. Blanketed by a gloriously brilliant layer of sky, my world seems a bit closer to hers....and to yours. We live under the same sky. The same world. In fact, we've been sharing this blanket for some time now. 
Back in the year 2006 she sent this photograph to me.
In the fall of 2011 she mailed a signed print to Bloggingham with a lovely letter.  Blogging friends and peace bloggers are real? Who knew?

I blog for peace because a long long time ago, one significant man chose to impart the best of himself to me. I'd like to say I didn't know how remarkable he was at the time, that I learned that later on in life and took him for granted. But that would not be true. I did know. I always knew. And he never let me down. I'd like to introduce you to this honorable man.





 The Silence of Peace Papa's Marbles as told on the very first Dona Nobis Pacem in the blogosphere in 2006  

They've been sitting on my piano for more years than I care to count - on the corner of the Kohler and Campbell my grandfather gave to me when I was fourteen years old. After he died, I found them in a tattered and dirty bag at the bottom of a box full of his personal things. He wanted me to have them. His marbles.

Handmade rough-hewn marbles crafted from rock by my grandfather and his brothers. The year was 1920 and there was no money for toys. I often wondered why he didn't leave them for a male member of the family. Honestly, folks. It wasn't until just tonight - the eve of Dona Nobis Pacem in the Blogosphere - that I discovered the answer.

I know stranger things have happened.
I just can't recall when.

I knew this post would not be written until the last moment. I made lots of notes but I just couldn't quite make it happen. It is still a little while before midnight in my part of the United States and I'm supposed to be spinning out a masterpiece of goodwill and peace prose - maybe a stunning poem like those we've already seen. A song, a lyric, a new tune.

Instead, Mimi Pencil Skirt wants to talk about rocks.

So I went into my study and began to polish them. One by one. The bowl, the piano, the granite. How many times have I sat at that very bench and casually glanced into that bowl? Thousands. Song after song. Tune after tune. Lesson after lesson. Tear after tear.

He didn't have a lot of money it seems to me now, my grandfather. At the time though, he was the richest man I knew. And he has been on my mind this week more often than not. Well over six-feet tall and always impeccably dressed, my Papa was the most humble man I've ever met.
When he passed away I met scores of people who told me what he'd meant to them. "He helped me when I needed money....." "He gave me his shoes...." and on and on.

His kindness was not news to me. The fact that a large portion of the town showed up at his wake was, however, a stunning surprise. I didn't know I'd been sharing him all those years.

He made me feel as if I were the only one in the world.

Strange, those marbles. All different shapes and sizes. Colors, too. Yet they've co-existed for years right there atop the long- lovingly- played strings inside my piano - the one Papa used his savings account to buy for me - while he worked two jobs at the factory and made time up on Saturdays when he missed work hours to drive me to my lessons.

I was a bit different. Artistic. Content with solitude. Always writing in endless journals and playing broody piano music. Papa didn't pamper me - even though that's a disputed fact to this day in my family.

What he did was more earth-shattering.

The one on top. That one.
Different... that one. I know that's the very one he made. I'm sure of it.

When I think about peace and what it means to me, I always wander back to a time when I first felt it. Because I know on an unconscious level that world peace cannot - will not - be achieved without inner peace. Adversaries on both sides of the conflict have to have it. You can't weave magical tranquility out of thin air and conferences. Peace is a state of being.

It has a life of its own.

Real lasting peace is born of creative jumble and hard work. Victories are never won by the one who as the most power - wars are won; but not peaceful achievements. Nothing good can ever come of power at play for the sake of power.It never lasts and there's always a hideous price.

Papa's Marbles. Not a pretty one in the bunch.
Every one brown or taupe. 

 Almost every one.

I started thinking this week about those times in my life when I first felt real peace. For me, it came in the presence of God at an early age. Not because I was privileged or special. But simply because I was loved. Unconditionally.

Sometimes it takes just one person to unlock magic in someone else.

I watched that kind of magic flow through my grandfather's life. He was in tune with who he was. He knew the simple meaning of love. He knew how to pray. I often wondered how other people sensed that about him without the benefit of those life-giving hugs he saved just for me.

He chose the color himself. Papa.....he must have spent hours honing that rock.

I often went with him to backwoods church services. Informal revivals, formal services, anywhere there was special music and a spirit of God - he was there. I can't explain it really. We would visit churches and the minister would ask him to lead the invocation or say the benediction - even though they'd never met. How did they know he could pray? I knew he could pray......but how did they know?

Taking his hat off and bowing his head, he would very quietly hold audience with his Maker. It didn't matter how many people were listening. His prayers always began the same way......"Dear Gracious Heavenly Father......"
No matter where. Or with whom. Or in front of whom.
Hat in hand. Head bowed. He knew how to reach God. And people sensed that when they met him.
If peace can be worn like a garment then he was always finely clothed, my Papa.

One night he took me by the hand and led me to the altar with him. He knelt down on one knee, elbow resting on the other and silently voiced his heart. I was right there! I heard the whole thing and he never said a word.

He made them with his own hands. He molded them into shape.
Created them and lovingly took care of them. He chose the color.
Not a sonata or a novel. Certainly nothing brilliant or fancy.
Just ordinary marbles.

Tonight I'm sitting at my table writing stories on an electronic device that sends messages to a guy in Canada about globe graphics and insomnia, making pots of endless coffee to stay awake, answering emails from Germany, London, China, New York , Oman and beyond.

Could Papa have ever imagined such a thing?

Did he?

What was he praying about all that time anyway?

 Oh forget about it. They're just a bunch of rocks. You've got a story to write. Can't you think of something brilliant? It's past midnight and everyone has their peace globe up but you.

I struggled. There's something missing here, I thought.
It's about Papa. I can't stop thinking about him.

What would he say to me tonight? How would he pray?

The marbles.
Look closer.

When it hit me I was way past the point of arguing with myself about miracles and such. I've seen too many come through my mailbox today to argue with God about that.

Do you see it?
The blue one on top.

It looks like a globe.

Dona Nobis Pacem did not start with Mimi. It started in 1920 when a little boy in the rural southeastern United States decided to shape a small blue marble - for his granddaughter.

And that's how it started. The muse is here this morning and I am writing my peace post. See you in a bit. If you're ready to post in your part of the world, go ahead and sign below. I'll transfer your links to my new post Nov 4th when I post it this evening.  
Join us for BlogBlast For Peace Nov 4

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